


come on (mess me up)

by MajorAccent



Series: two sides of the same coin [2]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Making Love, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorAccent/pseuds/MajorAccent
Summary: Robbe hums, turning back to face his boyfriend. “Up all night?” he asks, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.Sander shrugs. “Yeah, maybe,” he answers, not trying to be intentionally cryptic. All the hours bleed together when he gets like this; the only way he can keep track is when Robbe is awake or if the sun’s out.“Come back to bed,” Robbe encourages, wiggling back so there’s enough space for Sander to slip in next to him. “It’s still early.”
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: two sides of the same coin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801081
Comments: 78
Kudos: 254





	come on (mess me up)

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from [a cub sport song](https://youtu.be/K43ya8QpTXo) of the same name.
> 
> since quarantine has been happening, i've made a ridiculous amount of playlists for a sense of control and accomplishment, so. here's [a soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5f2uHRRDs5qO8hEhAVMCV2?si=NBUzM_EMQayGlqXe2s1Wcg) for this fic i made under the guise of being productive. i also just made a [pining, gay panic playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4eB1EQrVZPNGxE2xTCBKTP?si=AXw7-3zdTnWfwzfVxvGY0w) for them if you wanna get into those feelings, too.

Robbe wakes slowly, lulled by the early morning ambiance outside the open window. The air’s cool, but not biting, one of the small benefits of summer rolling around. He keeps his eyes closed, rolls over to rebury his face into the pillow, arm reaching out for Sander.

But the bed’s empty where Robbe’s hand lands, making him stretch further, touching the edge of the mattress. He picks his head up, blinking blearily to double-check that Sander is missing.

“I’m here,” Sander murmurs from behind, sitting in the office chair, sketchbook propped open in his lap. His hair is flat on one side, eyes tired, chewing on his thumbnail as his leg bounces. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Robbe hums, turning back to face his boyfriend. “Up all night?” he asks, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Sander shrugs. “Yeah, maybe,” he answers, not trying to be intentionally cryptic. All the hours bleed together when he gets like this; the only way he can keep track is when Robbe is awake or if the sun’s out.

“Come back to bed,” Robbe encourages, wiggling back so there’s enough space for Sander to slip in next to him. “It’s still early.”

Sander says something too softly for Robbe to hear, and the scratch of his pencil starts up.

Robbe tucks his arm under his head, trying to keep himself mostly conscious. “What are you drawing?” he asks, feeling like he already knows the answer.

“You,” Sander says plainly, eyes intent as he looks at the peak of Robbe’s hip. He stares and then blinks back to his pad of paper, pencil moving confidently.

“Don’t you have enough of me?” Robbe asks, staying still for Sander’s benefit. “I’ve been your French girl plenty of times.”

Sander laughs through his nose, choosing not to call Robbe out on his Leonardo DiCaprio reference. “You’re the best model,” he argues and holds up the pencil with the tip pressed to his thumb, one eye closed. “And you’ll pose nude without charging me extra.”

Robbe gasps dramatically. “I’ve never posed nude for you,” he says, sitting up.

Sander’s arm drops, measuring futile now that Robbe moved. “Nothing I’ve turned in for a grade,” he agrees.

“Sander,” Robbe says, sheets pooled around his waist. “You’ve drawn me nude?”

“It’s tasteful,” Sander says, eyes a touch too wide. “It’s more of a suggestion than anything graphic.” He flips the sketchbook around to show the messy outline he has, sweeping lines for the sheets contrasting with the hard angles of Robbe’s silhouette.

“You don’t show them to anyone,” Robbe says, collapsing back against the mattress. It isn’t a question, he knows and trusts that Sander wouldn’t do that.

Sander moves from the chair finally, cupping Robbe’s chin as he plants his knees against the sheets. “Never,” he agrees. “They’re only for me.”

Robbe arches into his touch, eyes half-lidded. “You’ve got it baaaaaaad,” he sings in a hushed tone, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he teases.

Sander doesn’t reply, just leans down and presses his mouth against Robbe’s, giving into that complicated twist of needlovejealousy in his gut. He bites at Robbe’s lip, knowing that no one else has seen him like this; sleep soft and pliant, _wanting_.

Robbe pulls him down, hand shooting out from under the covers to latch onto the back of Sander’s neck as he sucks on his tongue.

Sander pulls back enough to pull the sheets out of the way, angry that it’s blocking his access to skin.

“Yeah,” Robbe agrees blindly, kicking his legs to help get out from beneath it. “I’m here,” he says into the space between them, breath humid. He pulls Sander down on top of him, liking how grounded he feels under his weight. “I’m with you.”

Sander’s hands are already finding the hem of Robbe’s shirt, pushing it up, pressing his fingers into Robbe’s flank. “I could draw you forever,” he breathes out over the thin skin of Robbe’s neck, making him whimper as he shifts to give Sander more room. Sander mouths at the tendon; laves over the hickey he made the last time they fooled around.

Robbe hums and tucks his thumbs against the hinge of Sander’s jaw, pushing him upward to kiss him again, gasping into his mouth when Sander reaches between his legs and cups his half-hard cock. “Fuck,” he curses, drawing back with a wet noise as he pants openly. “Sander.”

“Like this,” Sander murmurs, not making any sense to Robbe’s frazzled consciousness. He tugs on Robbe’s chin with his free hand, thumb pressing at the corner of his mouth. “Draw you just like this and keep it forever.” He moves back after that, reaching to lift off his own shirt as he looks down at Robbe. The high points of his cheeks are flushed, his chest expanding and shrinking, eyes glassy.

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, a whine tinging the tone.

Sander pulls at the day-old t-shirt Robbe’s turned into his pajamas, wanting it off. Robbe grunts at him, leaning up to get the cotton out from under himself. Miles of smooth skin gets unveiled, the clear cut of Robbe’s collarbone already littered with past bite marks and adorned with his necklace. He presses against the darkest bruise, feeling the bone shift beneath as Robbe inhales sharply.

“I could paint you instead,” Sander keeps going, dragging the chain over to rest on the bruise, looking at the play of colors. “Blue and gold against your skin.”

Robbe arches into him, blinking hard. “Am I going to have to take my underwear off myself?” he asks, voice biting with impatience. He moves to reach for the waistband, but Sander bats his hands away with a chiding noise.

“I’m appreciating my subject,” he answers, leaning back down to press his mouth against Robbe’s again, lips parting to press inside. 

Robbe indulges him with a sigh, arching into the attention and throwing an arm around Sander’s shoulders. Sander slows him down, feels the rumble of Robbe’s moan as he softens his lips. He follows Robbe down to the mattress again, slotting their hips together.

“Get me naked,” Robbe huffs out, breathless as he tosses his head back and grinds against Sander’s thigh.

Sander laughs at that, delighted in the knowledge that Robbe has only ever said that to him. He manages to shove the material down to Robbe’s knee, exposing the hard line of his cock. He gets a hand around Robbe, presses another kiss to his mouth as he strokes down to the root. “Love seeing you like this,” he gets out, eyes moving over every detail.

There’s a flush making its way down Robbe’s chest, raw lips, mused hair, the crease between his brows. He’s _gorgeous_ , but it goes beyond the physical as Sander tunes in to the sound of Robbe’s shuddered breath and the chest-deep, punched out moan when Sander skirts the pad of his fingers over the slit of his cock, swiping under his foreskin.

“Sander,” Robbe pleads as he bends a knee, shaking out of his briefs completely.

Sander clicks his tongue. “Robbe,” he returns, voice low and rough. “Be patient, yeah?” he murmurs, cupping his palm against Robbe’s cheek, wanting to kiss him again.

But Robbe fights dirty, turns his head and gets Sander’s thumb into the blood hot cavern of his mouth, caught between his teeth. They lock eyes for a charged second before Robbe traces the tip of his tongue from the base to his nail, cheeks hollowed out when he sucks.

Sander can’t help how his fingers clench around Robbe’s jaw, hips stuttering as he dumbly seeks friction, the sensation muted by his own boxer briefs. “Fuck,” he curses and hooks his thumb against Robbe’s bottom incisors, tugging his mouth open as he ducks down. His arms plant themselves around Robbe’s head, too consumed by the need to kiss him to register the smug slant to Robbe’s eyes.

Robbe grapples for a hold on Sander’s shoulders, hand fisting in the platinum blond hair at his crown as he sucks on Sander’s tongue, kissing him wet and thorough. He gets Sander’s briefs down far enough to tuck the band under his balls, fingers closing around the shaft.

Sander wrenches back with a hiss, warm air gusting over Robbe’s face as he pants. “You’re cheating,” he says darkly, bumping his nose against Robbe’s.

“Cheating? How am I cheating?” Robbe asks, brushing his lips against Sander’s before he goes limp against the pillow again. “What am I even cheating at?”

Sander bites at his jawline. “Distracting me,” he mutters back, tugging Robbe’s arm back up, lacing their fingers together.

Robbe huffs a laugh, twisting away from Sander’s mouth. “Watch it,” he commands, pushing Sander’s head down by the grip he still has on his hair. “No marks up there or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Fucking YouTube comments,” Sander murmurs against the side of Robbe’s throat before he nips at the thin skin there, moving further down still, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s sternum.

“No,” Robbe says, wanting to correct him that his friends were more savage and teasing than anything from the internet. “Just—” he gets out before his mouth snaps shut with an audible click, a hurt noise leaving him as Sander bites down on one of his nipples. Robbe presses his fingers into Sander’s scalp as he switches sides. “Now who’s distracting?”

Robbe can feel his smile more than he can see it.

“Still you,” Sander answers. He lets go of Robbe’s hand in favor of running both of his down Robbe’s sides, fingers resting against the jut of his hip bones. Like his collarbones, he’s already got one purpling bruise from Sander’s mouth on the left side of his waist, dark against his tanned skin. He presses his thumb into it just to hear how Robbe whines.

Sander grins as he moves to put a matching hickey on the opposite side. Robbe’s thigh twitches alongside his shoulder, the muscle jumping as he tries to keep himself still. His skin pinks up, darker against the imprint of Sander’s teeth.

“Sander,” Robbe says, eyes far away and wet. He presses his hips into the mattress, curving his body to seek friction with an unconscious, desperate pang. “Please,” he sighs out, the harsh sound of his breathing loud in their quiet room. He makes a hurt noise when Sander presses his teeth against his old bruise again, pitch gentling out when he soothes the ache with a hot tongue. Robbe pushes Sander’s face against his stomach, free hand clenched in the pillowcase.

Robbe’s mouth drops open to say more, to let Sander know that it feels good despite his keening. But Sander ducks down even further, breathes against the thatch of hair above Robbe’s cock. He looks up to make sure that Robbe’s watching him, parts his kiss-swollen mouth to lick his lips, and Robbe gives him a broken groan in return.

“Yeah,” Sander says nonsensically, the hot and humid exhale of it making Robbe’s toes curl. He doesn’t give Robbe any time to recover, just gets a hand around the base of his cock to steady him before he settles between Robbe’s legs and drags his tongue up his dick in a long, slow slide.

“Fuck,” Robbe curses and throws his head back against the pillow.

Sander might be saying something, but he’s already taking Robbe into his mouth and nothing comes out but slurred vowels and the way his throat hums, making Robbe’s gut clench in helpless reaction. He starts to move and Robbe lifts himself up onto his elbows to watch.

Robbe reaches out, fingers combing through Sander’s fringe before his hand moves toward his temple, further down to the curve of his cheek. He presses his thumb against the corner of Sander’s mouth where it’s stretched around him as he slides up and sinks right back down with a groan. Robbe’s thighs tremble helplessly, mouth open as he pants, eyes zeroed in on how Sander’s thick eyelashes flutter.

“Shit, fuck,” Robbe curses under his hand, trying to muffle himself as that familiar sensation starts to build at the base of his spine. “Sander,” he sighs, slipping his hand back into his hair.

Sander reaches up, presses Robbe’s hand harder against his scalp as he dips even lower, throat opening up.

“ _Sander_ ,” Robbe tries again, tone sharp as everything pulls tighter, hyper-aware of the sweat in the creases of his elbows and back of his knees. “If you keep going, I’m going to cum,” he warns, tugging on Sander’s hair.

Sander finally pulls back with a wet, filthy noise, mouth bright red and swollen as he grins, hand still stroking over Robbe’s cock. “Want it,” he rasps, voice deep and coarse, _wrecked_. “Wanna taste you,” he continues, rubbing his open mouth across the head, swiping his tongue over the slit, licking away the precum that’s already beaded there. 

“Just—” Robbe gasps, thighs jumping as Sander pulls back his foreskin and presses his thumbnail right under the crown. Anything he wanted to say gets trapped behind his teeth as his jaw clenches, trying to hold on as the edge barrels closer and closer. Sander opens up for him again, nose buried at the base as he plants Robbe’s hips against the sheets and groans.

“Oh my god,” Robbe can hear himself saying nine thousand meters away, everything else stretching into a blur as his focus hones in on a single point.

Sander’s eyes look dangerous with how dark they are, hooded and glinting. His free hand ducks down lower, gently knuckling over Robbe’s balls where they’re drawn up and lower still, brushing down to his hole. Sander swallows around him, the hot clutch of his throat squeezing as he pulls off.

“Lube,” Sander demands roughly, breath warm and humid against Robbe’s skin.

Robbe blinks at him, mind shrouded in static as it tries to reboot. His throat clicks as he swallows thickly, mouth parched from his panting.

“Robbe,” Sander tries again, fingertips fanning over the soft skin of Robbe’s taint. He licks a long stripe from base to tip, following a particularly prominent vein. “Lube,” he repeats, smile playing on his face.

“Yeah,” Robbe agrees, mindless and distracted, ready to agree to anything. He feels like his limbs are moving through water, weighted and slow as he reaches up to the flat shelf of their headboard, hand smacking around blindly before it lands on the plastic squeeze tube. He tosses it down, aiming vaguely for his hip, hoping that it’s close enough.

Sander laughs, low and lazy. “Thanks,” he says, grabbing the lube and wetting his fingers. 

Robbe whimpers under the attention of Sander’s mouth, hand clamped over his own as Sander swipes his tongue back and forth at his slit, warm and wet, finding his rhythm as his finger presses and pushes, catching over sensitive skin. It sinks in gently, his hole soft and welcoming as Robbe relaxes into the pressure with a sigh.

Sander ducks down to the base again, beginning to pump his finger in and out, opposite forearm slung across Robbe’s hips to keep him pinned and still.

“Sander,” Robbe pleads, hand against Sander’s jawline as he moves. “I’m close,” he tries to warn again, not wanting it to be over too soon.

Sander whines, curling his finger against Robbe’s prostate, swallowing again, muscles fluttering around the shaft. Sander’s breath shudders out through his nose, breezing over Robbe’s damp skin where he’s sliding in and out.

He’s not going to last, can already feel his abs locking up and legs straining, trying to stave off his orgasm. Robbe’s hand clenches tighter in Sander’s hair, trying to anchor himself against the rapidly approaching peak. He shoves Sander down harshly on impulse, mouth dropping open with an apology on his tongue as he feels the blond gag around him, the wet noise of his throat contracting roughly followed by a low groan.

Robbe comes with a grunt, thighs shaking as his stomach drops out from under him, the whole room tilting on its side as the world goes mute around him. His own breathing is harsh, the roar of his blood still pounding against his eardrums as he slips out of Sander’s mouth.

“Beautiful,” Sander murmurs, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s cheek and temple and the tip of his nose.

Robbe smacks a hand against his shoulder, not ready for words as his brain finishes melting out of his ears. “You broke me,” he manages to get out, sluggish.

Sander laughs, tucking his face against Robbe’s neck. “You’re beautiful,” he repeats, setting his teeth against the hammer-point of Robbe’s pulse.

Robbe yelps, jerking away from the attention. “No marks,” he repeats, feeling the ghost of Sander’s bite on his neck.

“I want people to know,” Sander says, tracing the edge of Robbe’s jaw with his lips. “When they see you walking down the street, at the skate park, on YouTube.” He nips Robbe’s earlobe, tugs on the simple hoop he’s wearing, breath hot.

“Know what?” Robbe gasps, clinging to Sander’s biceps, feeling him rut against the cut of his hip.

Sander pulls back enough to look down at Robbe. “That you’re mine,” he answers plainly, eyes wide and unblinking. “That they can’t have you like this.” He presses a kiss to Robbe’s mouth, holds him by the chin and pushes his tongue inside, swallowing up Robbe's moan as he tastes himself.

“Here,” Robbe offers, trying to reach between their bodies to touch Sander in return.

“No, just,” Sander gets out, grabbing Robbe’s hips, trying to sit up and turn them over at the same time.

Robbe laughs breathlessly at the awkward tangle of their limbs, sure that his knee bumps Sander’s side too hard to be okay. “What?” he asks, finally able to settle his weight on Sander’s lap. “What do you want?”

“Like this,” Sander answers, one hand fanned over Robbe’s lower back as his other hunts for the discarded bottle of lube lost in their sheets. “I want you just like this.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the base of Robbe’s throat. “Wanna be able to watch you.”

Robbe makes a broken noise, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck, burying his hand in his hair again. “Go slow,” he cautions, still feeling like his body was a live wire, inhales coming short and fast as he spreads his legs further.

Sander fingers return slick and cold, skirting down the cleft of Robbe’s ass. “Wish I could take pictures of you like this,” Sander whispers between them, looking up at Robbe. He presses in with a slow slide, reveling in the catch of Robbe’s breath.

“Like what?” Robbe asks, voice strained as Sander moves his finger in and out. “Tomato red and— _fuck_ —sweaty?” He rocks back against Sander’s hand, his cock twitching where it’s dragging against Sander’s stomach with every thrust of his hips.

Sander pulls the digit out and returns with two, feeling Robbe’s moan against his tongue. “Yes,” he beams and curls his fingers against Robbe’s prostate. “Keep you like this forever, carefree and fucked out.”

Robbe presses their foreheads together, breath hot and humid against Sander’s face. He makes a strangled noise when Sander scissors his fingers apart, eyes slamming closed. “Fuck,” he curses again against Sander’s lips. “Hold on, hold on,” he chants, knees squeezing Sander’s waist as he freezes.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sander gentles him, sprinkling kisses across Robbe’s shoulders as he takes in shaky breaths.

Robbe tilts his head back, blinking rapidly. “Give me a minute,” he says, voice thick as his body struggles to find the line between pleasure and pain, still riding the sensitivity from his first climax; too fresh to get hard again.

Sander guides him down, holding more of Robbe’s weight in the cradle of his lap. “I’ve got you,” he soothes, sweeping his thumb back and forth where it’s pressed against his hip.

They’ve talked about it before, of course. When he was level. About what to do and how to handle it when Sander’s curving towards mania: hyper-focused on creating and producing art, his sense of appetite and need for sleep pushed to the back burner, the spike in his libido, how his medication crossed all his wires and messed with his body’s responses. Boundaries were established together, agreeing on what this would look like when they came to it.

Robbe reaches down between them, palming Sander’s cock, still hard and ruddy against the clutch of his fingers. “Okay,” he sighs out finally, no longer feeling like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin. “Keep going,” he encourages, squeezing against the fingers still tucked up in him.

Sander spreads his fingers again, testing the give of Robbe’s rim as he tries to commit the sight before him to memory. Robbe’s hair is mussed and flat in the back, blushing from his hairline to his collarbones, mouth swollen and red, pupils blown wide. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, sincere. “So good for me.” He shifts without leverage, mindlessly chasing the friction of Robbe’s hand against him.

Robbe’s nails press into the back of Sander’s neck as he whimpers, pushing his hips back to meet the thrust of Sander’s fingers. “I think—” Robbe stutters and stops on a wheeze, lungs on fire. His eyes scrunch closed, visibly shaking himself as he tries to filter between all the sensation and stimulation, seeking clarity.

“What?” Sander asks, stuffing his fingers knuckle deep, curling them against the bundle of nerves inside him, feeling Robbe clench down. “What do you think, angel?”

Robbe pulls back, steadies himself against the top slats of their headboard, lips open and chest heaving. “Give me another,” he answers, a desperate edge to the tone, his cock starting to chub up again, pleasure highlighted with an outline of hot, white pain.

Sander withdraws his fingers, making Robbe whine at the loss. He smiles, kissing the corner of Robbe’s panting mouth as he shushes him. “Getting more lube,” he explains, grabbing at the bottle to slick his digits.

He presses back in with three fingers, watching Robbe tremble with the slide. “Okay?” he checks in, petting his hand down the line of Robbe’s spine, whose chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to adjust.

Robbe breathes out shakily, a hurt noise leaving him. “Kiss me,” he requests, eyes hazy and half-lidded, his body pulled into tight lines and bone from all the stimulation, head still foggy.

Sander reaches up with his free hand, thumb pressed against the hinge of Robbe’s jaw as he cradles his face, pulling him down. He nips at the fullness of Robbe’s bottom lip, making him gasp. Sander swallows down the sound Robbe makes, kissing him soundly, distracting him.

Robbe breathes hard, head wrenching back. “Sander,” he whines, high and desperate as his muscles flex, lifting up to ride his hand. “Move.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sander agrees, breathless, unable to tear his eyes away from Robbe’s face. His hand moves down to Robbe’s hip, squeezing against the bone as he supports him, slowing the rhythm down. He leans up to kiss Robbe again, too overwhelmed with the need. He presses their lips together, easing Robbe’s mouth open with his own; heart suddenly full, too full, painfully full as Robbe sits heavy and perfect in his lap.

Sander reaches up, nails razing across Robbe’s pectoral, making him whine. He ducks down, bites at Robbe’s nipple again as he curls his fingers, pressing against his prostate. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he murmurs against Robbe’s wet skin, all of his senses consumed, flicking his tongue out to soothe the hurt. “You don’t understand what you do to me.”

“Please, Sander,” Robbe pants, rocking his hips back and forth, torn between grinding his dick against Sander’s stomach and fucking himself back on his fingers. “I’m ready,” he swears, clenching down as Sander curves his fingers just enough to get Robbe to curse again, heart hammering in his chest.

The flats of Sander’s teeth graze Robbe’s collarbone, easing his fingers out of the boy above him. “Do you want—?” he asks, moving to look past Robbe’s flank for the lube he lost in their sheets eons ago, slippery hand holding onto Robbe’s thigh.

“I’m wet enough,” Robbe answers, hand on Sander’s neck. “Just let me,” he sighs, reaching down to grab Sander’s length, sucking air through his teeth. Robbe rises up to his haunches, lining Sander up with his entrance; the fat, blunt head of his cock catching against his rim, making them both hiss. He bears down, relaxing against the pressure, and draws back up, fucking himself open in a slow rhythm as Sander’s hands latch on to his hips, grounding him.

A noise punches out of Sander’s chest, deep and wrecked as Robbe pushes and pushes and pushes until he’s sunk all the way down, split open, thighs spread around Sander’s waist. He loses himself for a moment, the sweet painful stretch drowning everything else out until it comes back in layers. Their breathing is the only sound in the room, labored and noisy as they adjust to each other, balancing on the line of too much and not enough. “Fuck, Robbe,” Sander curses, overwhelmed. He reaches out, tracing up the tense line of Robbe’s spine to grip the back of the boy’s neck.

Robbe hums, leaning against Sander’s temple, soft and unhurried as he gives into the sensation of being filled, heart pounding in his ears as he holds onto Sander’s shoulders. The sun has finally crossed from the hazy blue of near morning to the gold of waking hours, bathing Robbe in warm orange and yellow, a halo of light playing in his hair when he pulls back enough to look down at Sander.

“Robbe,” Sander murmurs, caught up in Robbe’s gravity as he tries to memorize exactly how he looks at that moment: ethereal and wholly _his_. He kisses whatever skin he can reach, hand reaching up to curl into his locks, angling his face so their mouths can align, chaste with how Sander’s heart is full to bursting. “I’ll paint you mornings of gold,” he quotes breathlessly. His gaze bounces from Robbe’s half-lidded eyes to his open mouth, tripping over the planes of his face as he loops back, starting again.

He wants to keep this image forever.

Robbe draws in a hiccuping breath, eyebrows creased as recognition triggers across his face. “Sander,” he sighs out like supplication from above. He cradles Sander’s face in his palms, sharing air. “I love you,” he whispers, sincere. “No man has loved like I love you.”

Sander kisses him, sucks on his bottom lip, consciousness completely absorbed by how much he loves this boy in front of him. “Look at you,” he gushes out over Robbe’s lips, one hand grabbing at the back of Robbe’s thigh and the other squeezing his flank. “You’re a masterpiece,” Sander says, reverent, helpless to the hot clutch of Robbe’s body.

Robbe shifts, moving his hips in a jagged circle, testing. The stretch is present, but the pain has ebbed into something headier; blood thundering under sensitive skin. “Fuck, Sander,” he curses, head tossed back, noisy as Sander gives his own helpless jerk, burying himself even deeper in Robbe.

Sander’s hands tighten on Robbe’s waist, trying to get a hold on his bearings. His mouth finds Robbe’s skin, teeth against the dip of his shoulder, thin skin against bone. Robbe rises up on his knees and bears down, dropping his weight onto Sander’s cock. One hand slaps over his own mouth, reining in a high-pitched whimper. He jerks unsteadily, uncontrolled with no sense of rhythm, too hard up for it to be anything but desperate.

“Please, please, _please_ ,” Robbe’s saying, all the syllables drawn out; a low, chest-deep sound follows immediately after, begging for Sander to meet him halfway. He gets a hand around Sander’s forearm, the other planting somewhere on the headboard as he rises and falls. 

Sander is under him, chest heaving with every panted breath, and he’s white fire inside Robbe. Thick and too much and hot, hot, _hot_ —

Sander moans and buries his face against Robbe’s neck.

“God—” Sander grunts as Robbe bottoms out slowly, and just as slowly, pulls back. “You look better than anything I’ve ever seen.” His grips Robbe’s hip and flank, guiding his movement.

Robbe’s back arches, muscles locking into place, every inch of him looking like the object of worship he deserves to be. His neck looks a mile long like this, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down air. Sander leans forward, kissing Robbe’s parted lips as he gasps, pressing inside.

Robbe positively whines around his tongue, taking it, stretched tight around him as Sander plants his feet against the mattress and meets him in the middle. He leans forward, changing his center of gravity as he shoves his hips down, unable to tamp down on the whimper that crawls up his throat. “Sander,” he gasps above him, teeth worrying into his bottom lip, a crease between his brows.

The drag of his hips is slow and dirty, clenching as he thrusts down; cock dragging against the flat plane Sander’s stomach, ruddy and soaked. “Tell me?” Sander requests in a whisper, delving down Robbe’s cleft again, fingers touching his rim, feels where he’s easing in and out. “Tell me how I feel inside you?”

“Fuck,” Robbe swears, sure he’s flushing straight down to his toes with how hot his face feels. He sits on Sander fully, rocking against him. He shudders in Sander’s arms, arching into him, breathes a low moan out between them as they move together in a tight grind of hips. “I feel—” Robbe starts, voice cracking. His heart is racing, mind whirling too quick to latch on to anything. “Full, and good,” he gets out, his higher vocabulary leaving him as he presses back against that relentless pressure. “ _Sander_.”

Sander can’t help the dizzying flip his heart does behind his sternum, tripping double-time as it thuds against his ribs. “I’ve got you,” he promises in a low whisper, grasping Robbe’s elbow, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of the seam. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Robbe makes a sound like he’s dying, he feels like he’s dying, sure that he actually forgets to breathe as he stares down at Sander. He lurches with a breathy rasp as Sander runs his hands up the fluttering line of his thighs to his ass, taking handfuls and squeezing, making Robbe bite down on his too-pink mouth as his head jolts to the side at the sensation.

“You—” Sander stutters, pushing into him. He strokes the pad of his finger along Robbe’s crease until he shudders and arches back into the touch, the long line of his throat is too much of a temptation, and Sander shifts forward to brush hot, open-mouth kisses to his neck. He wants to gather Robbe up into his arms and feel him shake apart, his noises so small and breathy now. “Robbe,” he says in his own sharp rasp, pressing into him with short rolls of his hips, relishing in the way he can feel every part of Robbe quiver like this, scorching and tight around him.

Robbe leans forward, changing the angle enough to make his mouth drop open, his moans getting louder, more insistent as Sander drags across his prostate. He shifts his knees, looking for leverage before he shoves his hips back into the next thrust. He grabs Sander’s hair again, kissing him squarely, wet and messy, tongue dipping in. “Sander,” he whimpers. “Oh my god, please. _Fuck_ ,” he begs aimlessly, heart racing.

Sander wants to _ruin_ him.

Robbe’s thighs jump under his hands, sending a rush of power through Sander’s veins, muscles bunching and stretching as Robbe rides him. “What do you want, baby?” he asks, mouth against Robbe’s jaw, feeling his breathless little whimper. He trails his hands up to his hips, thumb sweeping over the iliac crest. “Want me to touch you?” Sander guesses, reaching for Robbe’s cock.

“ _No_ ,” Robbe snaps with a shake of his head, voice rough and sounding nothing like his own. He pushes Sander’s hand back to his hip, holding it there. He presses his weight down on Sander fully, sitting in his lap, brow creased as he blinked rapidly. “Don’t want—” he tries, throat clicking with dryness.

Sander kisses the corner of his mouth, peppering over his cheeks, letting Robbe get his bearings. He nuzzles lower, face buried against the tanned skin of Robbe’s shoulder, smelling salt and musk and the body wash they share. “What?” he asks sweetly, smile tender when he draws back far enough to see Robbe’s eyes.

“Don’t wanna cum yet,” he answers finally, swallowing thickly. Robbe takes himself in hand, squeezing his fingers around the base of his cock and balls, precum smeared on the head, staving off his climax as his stomach clenches and twitches. His other hand comes up, cupping Sander’s face to tip it up. “Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he breathes, mouth swollen and red.

“Like what?” Sander blinks, hand running over Robbe’s abs, the lean cut of him begging to be touched, stealing away his focus. Robbe kisses him instead of answering, punctuated by a sharp nip of teeth to his bottom lip. Sander’s grip goes tight around Robbe’s waist, rocking into Robbe rather than thrusting, seeking friction. “Like what?” he repeats when Robbe draws back to breathe out a sigh, heart aching for him.

Robbe shakes his head, finally moving against him again, languid. “Like you’re trying to memorize everything,” he accuses, his eyes molten in the light. Robbe’s hands go to his shoulders, bracing and looking for leverage, rhythm jagged and slow.

“I am,” Sander admits freely, voice tight. The stretch of skin over Robbe’s shoulders and collar bone, the way his pendant sways with every circle of his hips, his hair falling and curling with sweat, the blush blooming on his cheeks and down his neck. They’re all already snapshots for Sander’s synapses, committed and transferred and received.

Robbe lets out a shuddering sigh, head tilted back. “Sander,” he says like a plea, the rush of blood clamoring in the racetrack of his limbs, cutting off whatever admonishment he had. “Please, I need—” He starts and stops again, caught between excess and want, sandpaper on his nerve-endings, aching sinew and frayed recognition. “On my back,” he manages to puzzle-piece together.

Sander grabs Robbe’s wrists, urging them around the back of his neck. “Hold on,” he commands, lifting him up and off. Robbe’s back lands against the mattress, head cushioned against their pillows, Sander following him down.

Air knocks out of Robbe’s lungs, pinned and grounded under Sander’s weight again. Fingers slide up, cupping the back of his calves, his sore knees, pulling at them and drawing him impossibly closer, thumbs sweeping back and forth to soothe. Robbe’s arm falls across Sander’s shoulders, the other flung above their heads as Sander presses the aching line of his cock back into him, making them both moan.

Sander’s chest heaves against the cradle of Robbe’s thighs, sharp gasping breaths as he bottoms out. “Fuck, Robbe,” Sander curses, voice all twisted up in pleasure as he plants a forearm against the mattress. “You feel so good.”

Robbe whimpers something against the column of Sander’s neck, face tucked against him. He feels heavy and weightless all at once, his edges starting to soften. He arches against Sander, seeking out the solid line where they’re connected. “ _Sander_ ,” he whispers, reverent and sincere, mouth wide open. He’s out of breath and tender, like his core’s been wrung out to dry.

They’re pressed cheek to cheek like this, panting against each other’s ear. Sander ducks forward, brushes his lips against the shell of Robbe’s ear, feels him shiver. “I love you,” he says, earnest. He presses a kiss to the hinge of Robbe’s jaw, the corner of his mouth, until he can sweep his tongue inside, desperate and messy. “I love you,” he repeats, tucked against Robbe’s Adam's apple as he keeps pressing into him with short rolls of his hips. “You’re—Fuck, Robbe, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The sound Robbe makes is hitching and broken, so tiny and soft that Sander almost can’t hear it over his own sharp rasping. “I love you, too,” Robbe breathes, hands holding onto Sander’s face, tugging him up, close enough to see the dusting of freckles across his nose from their hours spent in the sun together. “I love you so much.” Robbe’s eyes are swimming, eyelashes clumping together as he blinks against it, the image of Sander going blurry with his tears.

Sander inches his hand up to the juncture of Robbe’s shoulder, cupping against the corded muscle and pounding pulse, thumb brushing down to the chain of his necklace again. His expression is soft, immeasurably fond before his eyes flutter closed with a grunt when Robbe clenches down on him as he bottoms out. Sander drives forward and kisses him again.

Robbe gasps, mouth dropping open, inviting him in, but Sander bites, sinks his teeth into the soft give of Robbe’s bottom lip. He whimpers, one hand clamped on the blond’s bicep and the other in his hair. “Oh, fuck,” he moans against Sander’s mouth, pleasure shooting down his spine from the base of his skull, pinging around his stomach. “Move, move— _please_ —” He’s demanding, chest heaving as he pants, tortured now by the slow slide of it all. Robbe’s hand darts down to the one Sander’s has clenched at his hip, fingers solid against his wrist.

Sander rumbles wordlessly, adjusting his grip on Robbe, both hands moving to grip his hips. He picks up the pace, a fluid circle that scatters any more of Robbe’s begging into breathless mewls. “I’m the only one who’s ever seen you like this,” Sander grunts against Robbe’s collarbone, tightening his grip. “You’re so—” He stutters, blood pounding in his eardrums as his touch careens into possessive, dragging Robbe down to meet each thrust. “You’re so needy,” he teases without malice or cruelty, drunk on how gone Robbe is for him.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Robbe wheezes, covering his eyes with a hand, unwilling to look at Sander. He’s sure if he weren’t already red in the face, his cheeks and ears would immediately flush, embarrassed and called out.

“No, stop,” Sander coaxes, tugging Robbe’s arm away. “Let me see you.”

Robbe whines high-pitched in protest, but laces his fingers with Sander’s. He arches his hips up just another measure, gives a choked off cry as Sander slots into him steady and gentle. His other hand caresses over Sander’s shoulders and down his back, clinging to him. “Sander,” he breathes, half-pleading, sighing when Sander’s mouth brushes over the apple of his cheek, up to his temple, curving finally to his forehead.

“Robbe,” Sander returns, eyes soft and warm. The grin on his face is even softer, painfully sweet. His heart swells, his chest warm and tight with tenderness. He wants to tell Robbe how good he looks like this, how good he feels, how a part of him still can’t believe he gets to have this. But all that comes out is a ragged rush of breath against sweat-damp skin, and all he can do is hope that Robbe can pick up on how his entire being is broadcasting it, a wrecked noise torn from his throat.

Robbe pulls on Sander’s hair, tugging incessantly to come closer. “I want, please, here.” He barely manages to get out, nudging and seeking out Sander’s kiss. It’s slick and uncoordinated, more sharing air than a kiss as their easy, careful momentum bleeds into something more hungry and urgent.

Sander cups a hand to the trembling line of Robbe’s thigh, feels him shudder with every press in, finding a new rhythm. His moans get smothered as he dips his head, mouthing feverishly along Robbe’s collarbone, sinking his teeth right over the delicate gold chain; grunting when Robbe keens at the attention and clenches around him, restraint running thin.

“Fuck,” Robbe rumbles underneath him, sucking in a sharp breath. He wrenches his hand out of Sander’s grip, cinching on his hip. “C’mon,” he encourages, pulling him in as he jerks his hips up sharply, rutting. “Please, _please_ , Sander, I want it,” Robbe gasps against his jawline, begging for the roughness they both want now, his voice a low rasp when he says, “Fuck, fill me up, wanna feel you.”

Sander plants a shaking hand into the sheets at Robbe’s side, leveraging up onto his knees, no longer pinning Robbe down with his weight. His hand drags down Robbe’s sternum, feeling the thrum of his rapid heartbeat beneath his palm, heady and alive. His path continues, splaying lower over Robbe’s stomach, holding him in place as his thrusts grow harder, faster, giving in to the rising tide of desperation and craving. He lifts one of Robbe’s legs up, pushing him into bending and spreading wider, so he can press even closer.

Pulled back like this, he can rake his eyes over Robbe’s face. Stripped of his insecurity and worries, eyes slammed shut as he jolts, a sobbing moan on his lips. Robbe goes rigid against him, trembling as Sander finally takes control over the speed. He does his best to lift his hips, letting Sander hold him up as he fucks him in frantic jolts, his skin burning hotter—the core of him pounding with approval as Robbe’s cock leaks precum across his stomach.

Sander draws back and snaps his hips forward, so far past going slow and gentle; all he can think about is the hot, fluttering clutch of Robbe around him. Robbe’s thighs are shaking with every hitch of Sander’s hips, clenches down on him with a wounded whimper. The new angle sends him deeper, lets him give long, smooth thrusts that scramble any sentence Robbe tries to form together. Robbe muffles himself, hand clapped over his mouth as he gives a keening little groan.

Robbe writhes against him, leaning into every point of contact Sander gives him. He reaches a hand up, beckoning with his fingers in a flex, palm landing on Sander’s rib cage with a fractured whine. He’s beyond words, too strung out and greedy for sensation, pushes himself up enough to drag Sander in by the back of his neck, sucking the swell of Sander’s bottom lip between his teeth.

A hungry sound rumbles in Sander’s chest, a deep bellow that curls Robbe’s toes and throbs between his legs. Sander’s hand cups Robbe’s cheek, presses their lips together, biting Robbe back, kissing him roughly. He lets Robbe pull him down again; wants that connection, wants to feel Robbe thrash against him, wants a front row seat to the riot of red that he sees across Robbe’s cheeks when he pulls away to moan as Sander gropes his thighs.

“More,” Robbe begs, arching into him. “Please, please, fuck, oh my god,” he chants as if Sander is ever going to deny him. His lips press into a line as his eyes slam shut, tears clumping his lashes together, all of him wound up and strung out with nothing but Sander’s weight pinning and tethering him down.

Sander hitches Robbe’s leg up even higher until it’s nearly flush with his chest, bearing down on him. The angle hits Robbe better, closer; drags across his prostate with every push in. His cock is trapped between them, in a mess of his own precum and sweat. Sander’s mouth is hot and wet against his, breath coming in frantic puffs as he fucks Robbe rough and steady, skin starting to pull taut as he ratchets higher and higher; the slow simmer his medication keeps him on finally starting to trip over into a rolling boil.

Robbe positively wails, whines so sweetly against Sander’s throat, body arching. He clutches Sander tighter against him, fingers digging into his back, teeth clamping down on the junction of Sander’s neck and shoulder in a desperate bid to smother the noise as they rock together.

“Robbe,” Sander exclaims, but his voice hitches around the word until it sounds like a plea. His grip on the swell of Robbe’s thigh is bruising, keeping Robbe in place as he digs his fingers in, skin feeling tight and overheated as pleasure coils in his gut. His free hand traces the length of his stomach and over the plane of his chest to rest against his collarbone. With his palm pressed against Robbe’s breastbone, he can feel all the smothered noises bouncing around his rib cage with every gaining thrust. “Fuck,” he gasps as any higher-order thinking dissolves away, leaving Sander with nothing but bone-deep _want_.

Robbe’s hand claws through Sander’s hair, tugging at the strands. “I’m—” He’s gasping, breathing staccato through his teeth as his hips buck up, chasing that stardust and white lightning behind his eyelids. He pulls Sander’s face from his neck, pressing their foreheads together as he sobs.

“Close?” Sander guesses, desperation racing down his spine as he wraps a hand around Robbe’s cock. He can’t stop, keeps driving and shoving into him, caught up in the sensation, hurtling toward the edge of his own release.

Robbe makes a noise of protest, even as his mouth drops open and his dark eyes roll back at the friction against his straining dick. “Fuck,” Robbe’s choking out as Sander strokes from root to tip a half dozen times, so close to the edge that it burns. His entire body curves as his muscles lock up, everything tensing and tightening until it all snaps forward in a single surge; hips torn between thrusting into the tight grip around his cock or shoving back against the hard pressure pressed up against his prostate. Sander’s whispering encouragements into his ear as Robbe chokes on a moan, shaking and gasping as slick cum shoots and paints Sander’s hand.

Sander kisses Robbe’s slack mouth, his own reedy noise getting punched out of his chest as Robbe tightens up around him. “In, in, in,” Robbe’s commanding, hands on Sander’s face as aftershocks race through his limbs. “I want you to cum in me,” he says, stronger now as he clenches down deliberately.

His orgasm isn’t a gradual swell, but a plummeting leap as every single nerve fires at once, his back arching as his heart hammers against his ribs, his thrusts going sloppy as he slams in and presses himself close as he can to Robbe, cumming and emptying himself in the hot clutch of his body. He’s wrung out and still trembling as the hazy fog of satisfaction starts to settle in.

Consciousness comes back in layers as his eyes blink open, registering the brightness of their bedroom as Robbe brushes the sweaty hair off of Sander’s forehead. “You back in the land of the living?” Robbe jokes, voice a quiet murmur.

Sander can only muster a soft hum, wanting to tuck himself against Robbe’s warmth.

“Hey, no,” Robbe admonishes, tugging on his ear. “You need to let me up.”

Sander doesn’t even bother to fight him about it, just levers himself out of Robbe’s space, easing out of him with a hiss. He stretches out against the sheets, spine popping with a sigh.

Robbe walks to the bathroom with halting steps, leaving the door open as he goes. The sink runs in the bathroom as he waits for the water to heat up enough. Sander flops onto his back, watching Robbe as he examines the new hickey on his throat. He gives a perfunctory wipe down over his stomach and thighs, finding the new marks Sander pressed into his skin.

“You’re a menace,” Robbe accuses without heat, already anticipating the jeers he’ll hear when he meets up with Milan and Zoë later for lunch.

“C’mere,” Sander beckons instead, gesturing with limp limbs. “I wanna cuddle.”

Robbe rolls his eyes, but crawls back into bed with him with a shy smile. He settles against Sander’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder, humming in content as he slings his arm over his waist. “I’m gonna fall asleep,” Robbe warns, slurring against his skin.

Sander strokes a hand down the length of Robbe’s back, lightly dragging his nails against the skin. “Okay,” he acknowledges and loops back up, raking through the hair at Robbe’s nape. “It’s just that…” He starts and trails off. “Never mind.” 

Robbe makes a groggy sound, burrowing deeper against Sander’s side. “What?” He finally manages, voice quiet. His eyes stay closed, obviously trying to reclaim the sleepiness he had moments ago.

“It’s nothing, really.” Sander answers, repeating the motion in reverse. “Just…” He frowns in thought, even though Robbe’s refusing to look at him. “I hope no one complains again.”

“‘Complains?’” Robbe questions, finally propping his head up, so he can look up at Sander. “Complain about what?” He asks before he registers the leer Sander’s giving him, realization hitting him full force. His face heats immediately, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I hate you,” he claims, trying to push Sander out of their bed as he cackles.

“What did that letter say again?” Sander is laughing still, twisting away from Robbe’s prodding limbs. He grabs Robbe’s arms, pulling him in again, even if Robbe pretends to fight him about it. “'We understand you are young and in love,'” he quotes, completely sure that’s how the letter started. “But please know—” He cuts off with a grunt when Robbe pushes his knuckles against his side.

“Shut up, shut up,” Robbe is begging, trying to shove a hand over Sander’s mouth. “I never want to think about it ever again.”

Sander rolls over, pinning Robbe against the mattress, arms caught in the sheets. “Why not?” he asks, breath fanning out over Robbe’s face, noses close together.

“It’s embarrassing,” Robbe answers. He sounds like he’s pouting, mouth downturned with his lower lip jutting out, but Sander doesn’t want to pull back far enough to see it. “Our neighbors know what we sound like.”

Sander shrugs. “But they’re right,” he says, petting Robbe’s hair as he grins. “We are young and in love.”

Robbe softens at that, the tense line of his shoulders melting slightly. “I do love you,” he whispers into their shared air, achingly honest. He tilts his face up, eyes mellowing into half-moons, silently asking for Sander to bridge the divide.

“And I love you,” Sander replies, just as quietly, allowing himself to be pulled into Robbe’s undertow, pressing a lingering kiss against his mouth, sweet and chaste. He pulls back, looking down at Robbe’s tender expression. “I really, really love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i am on [tumblr](http://acespaceacepilot.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/SgtKarma).
> 
> i normally write bdsm, orgasm denial, shibari kind of smut. so let me tell you i Struggled writing this tender love making.
> 
> there's totally two bowie lyrics in this, see if you can spot them.
> 
> annnnd anti-depressants make it hard to cum. if you didn't know that, now you do! it's not a fun time.
> 
> i leave you with this plea: support your local fanfic writers and leave comments. this is a tiny fandom. the way you can keep it going and active is making sure your fav writers have an audience. kudos are nice but they don't give me that same endorphin high of that "[AO3] Comment on..." email, ja feel?
> 
> a bitch likes validation. please leave a comment, even if it's only a heart emoji. don't want people to know you read smut? no problem! i don't turn off anonymous comments!
> 
> if you leave me a comment i will come to your house, tuck you into bed, water your house plants, and feed your pet in gratitude. i also no longer have to use crutches or wear a boot for my broken foot! i can follow through on those promises now! lemme know if you liked this or if i should write more.
> 
> i will bless you with success if you comment on this fic, dude.


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